None So Blind
by chill13
Summary: Blindness can come in many forms.  Gilligan and the Professor learn that sometimes only disaster can open eyes.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Gilligan sat at the edge of the lagoon. The warm tropical breeze gently ruffled his dark hair and the sounds of singing birds lilted all around him. He ignored them both. His gaze was fixed intently on the little black book that sat on his knees. It was thick and crinkled with water damage and the gold script that had once said 'my diary' was nearly rubbed off. He chewed absently at the end of his pencil as he regarded the wrinkled pages. With a decisive nod he pulled the utensil from his mouth and began to write:

_Dear Diary_

A lot has happened in the last coupla days. Well, I guess not really a lot but it sure felt like it. I don't want to forget all the things I learned so I'm gonna write them down.

It started when the Skipper said we oughta weather strip the huts again because the storm season was coming. Well, the Skipper and me were carrying this big barrel of tar back to camp, me on one side and the Skipper on the other. That thing was aweful heavy even with the Skipper carrying more than half of it. We'd just stepped into the clearing when the Skipper said; "We'll have to take a left up here, Little Buddy. The girls are doing the wash."

I nodded, all ready to turn left.

Ginger and Mary Ann smiled at us from where they were hanging up the laundry. "My that looks heavy." Ginger said.

"It is!"

A few feet later the Skipper said: "Alright, turn right here."

"I thought you said we were turning left."

He nodded. "Right."

So I turned right and stepped into the laundry basket. I lost my balance and my grip on the barrel which toppled over. The Skipper reared back with a roar that would have scared any lion and started hopping around on one foot. It was like something out of a Three Stooges movie and I woulda laughed my head off if the girls hadn't been yelling at me to get my foot out of their clean laundry. I tried to shake the basket off but the dumb thing stuck to my foot like gum and my toe ended up caught in one of the handles.

The Howells showed up just as I stepped in some of the spilled tar and fell backwards right into the clothesline. Kind of a silly place for a clothesline if you ask me, right in between two trees where people walk. Anyway, the line snapped and the next thing I knew it was wrapped around me, clothes and all, like one of those big snakes from the Tarzan movies. Nobody believes me, but I tell you those things are dangerous. Just when you think all they're doin is holding up the clothes they try to strangle you!

Then everybody yelled my name at once, I mean exactly at the same time. I could have swore they had practiced. Then came the rest of the yelling.

"Oh, dear, Thurston. Look at our clothes!"

"Heavens! And I thought our dry cleaner was bad! My boy, get out of there!"

"Gilligan, quit thrashing around! You're getting the clothes in the tar!"

"Oh, Gilligan! You're making a mess!"

"Gilligan!"

I was surrounded and they were all mad. I'm sure I woulda been tarred, feathered and strung up the nearest tree if the Professor hadn't shown up.

…

The Professor sat quietly in his hut. His right leg was elevated by a pillow and his foot swathed in a thick clay cast. A large leather-bound journal sat on his lap. His brow was creased and he chewed at his lower lip as he appraised the blank page, the feather pen in his hand poised above the slightly yellowed parchment. After much deliberation he touched the tip to paper and began to write:

_Personal Journal_

_June 8, 1966_

In the past I have utilized this journal solely for scientific observations, such as cataloging the island's flora and fauna, recording the results of my experiments or sketching blueprints of devices I intend to build. But as I lay here in my hut, recovering but sufficiently immobilized I find myself compelled to record the events that put me here.

It began two days ago as I was preparing for an excursion to the interior of the island. I was appraising the items I planned to bring along; two over-shoulder sacks, (one full of yet-to-be-filled containers, this journal, and several other useful implements, the other empty for the plant specimens I planned to collect) and a tall ladder, when there came a loud crash from outside followed closely by shouts of: "Gilligan!"

My curiosity piqued, I quickly opened the door and stepped outside into complete pandemonium. My six fellow castaways were congregated near the perimeter of the clearing. Every one of them shouting at the young first mate who was hopelessly tangled in a clothesline. His efforts to extricate himself only managed to drag the wet wash through a large patch of tar spilling from an overturned barrel near his feet.

Mr. Howell was stamping his feet and waving a fist at the young man. "I expect full compensation for that cashmere sweater! And those pants cost me at least…"

"Oh, dear!" Said his wife. "And black isn't even this year's color!"

"That's my best dress!" The movie star lamented.

"Oh, Gilligan, I worked hours on that laundry!" Mary Ann sounded as if she were about to cry. "How could you?"

"Gilligan, you numbskull!" The Skipper, limping slightly, moved over to Gilligan and gave him a sound blow with his captain's hat. "I told you to go left!"

"But Skip—" Gilligan's feet became caught in the line and he stumbled a bit.

"Of all the lame-brained, knuckle-headed stunts…"

"You forgot 'stupid'." Mr. Howell added.

"And destructive." Mary Ann said.

The young man has a tendency to be particularly inept, possessing an uncanny ability to cause havoc. Considering the circumstances I could understand the others' reaction. But as I watched him, surrounded, turning from one accuser to another I found myself overcome by a pang of pity. I felt compelled to somehow intervene. "Gilligan! There you are."

Gilligan turned as I approached, managed to enmesh both feet in the line, lost his balance and toppled backwards into the sand. Kneeling, I assisted in extricating him from the disorganized mess. When he finally stood the coils fell to his feet and he quickly stepped out of the jumble of rope and clothing. "Thanks, Professor."

I put a hand on the young man's shoulder. "I've been looking for you." This was not entirely true, however it seemed that a slight fabrication was called for.

"He's not hard to find. Look for the nearest catastrophe and he'll be right in the middle of it."

Now, I do not wish to speak ill of the Skipper. Despite all his size and strength he is a kind and gentle man and I think very highly of him. However, his patience can be short with his crew and when sufficiently vexed his words can be sharp.

Mr. Howell snorted. "Look up 'walking disaster' in the dictionary and you'll find his picture."

His wife turned to Gilligan her irritation apparently forgotten. "How nice! Gilligan, you never told us you had your picture in the dictionary." Mrs. Howell's misconceptions are always enough to give me a pause.

"You ought to try out for the next disaster movie." Ginger said as she and Mary Ann began to pick up the soiled laundry. "You'd be perfect for the part of the hurricane."

Gilligan took a step back, overwhelmed and obviously injured by the barrage of insults.

With a nod toward the Skipper I said: "Skipper, I need to borrow Gilligan for a moment." A hand still on Gilligan's shoulder I maneuvered him toward the supply hut and away from his irate comrades.

"Be my guest." The Skipper called after us. "Get him out of here before I do something I might regret!"

I would not give the impression that I myself have never given the lad a harsh word when he has caused a particularly disagreeable mishap. But on this occasion I found myself coming to his defense.

"Gilligan, would you be so kind as to assist me on a scientific excursion?" I asked when we entered the supply hut. "I could use someone to carry a few things."

Gilligan gave a quick glance out the door where the Skipper and Mary Ann had begun cleaning up the mess. "Sure, Professor. But what are we going to scourge?"

I managed to hide a smile. "Gilligan, excursion means 'hike'."

Generally I neither desire nor require assistance on my scientific expeditions. I find it is easier to concentrate in solitude where there are no distractions. Nevertheless I made an exception on this occasion because I felt Gilligan would benefit from the respite and I could use someone to carry the ladder. At the time it seemed a perfect symbiotic relationship. Little did I realize how much I was about to learn.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

_Personal Journal_

Gilligan and I were soon winding our way roughly southeastward, toward the interior of the island. He had been uncharacteristically quiet for the first ten minutes of our journey. But I was correct in assuming that would not continue to be the case.

"It wasn't all my fault, you know. The Skipper gives lousy directions. He says 'turn right here'. So I turn right, we run into the clothesline, the tar spills and everyone gets sore at me." There was a short pause and his voice softened. "…even Mary Ann."

Gilligan was not, I am positive, knowledgeable enough about female physiology to understand why the generally amiable young woman had been somewhat irritable the past couple of days and I certainly had no desire to explain it to him. His comment, however, did call for a response. "Perhaps the Skipper didn't mean 'right' the direction."

"Huh?"

"Maybe when he said 'turn right here' he meant for you, not to turn right, but to turn at that particular location."

"What do you mean? He said that…" Gilligan's voice changed instantly from confusion to revelation. "Oooh."

A classic specimen of Arundina graminifolia arrested my attention and I quickly bent down to examine the delicate orchid. The next moment I found myself knocked unceremoniously to the ground, my face crushing the very flower I had been studying. "Gilligan!" My voice rose with frustration. "Will you watch what you're doing with that ladder!" I stood and brushed the soil from my clothes.

Gilligan shrugged apologetically. "Sorry, Professor. I didn't realize you'd stopped."

I had been directly in front of him. How could he have failed to note my activity? The disbelief at his ineptness brought a note of sarcasm to my reply. "Next time I will give you ample warning."

Gilligan shook his head with a good-natured smile. "Naw. Just tell me ahead of time."

After briskly straitening my bag I headed once again through the dense foliage.

"What are we looking for anyway?" Gilligan asked from behind.

"Aleurites moluccana." There are times when I forget to factor my companions' level of education. As a result my discourse often exceeds their level of comprehension. Their, and I daresay especially Gilligan's, interpretations of academic language never cease to be a source of amusement. I will admit, however, with some abashment, there are times when my use of higher vocabulary is deliberate. This was one of those times and Gilligan did not disappoint me.

"I think my aunt Sarah had that once. She was in bed for three weeks and used enough tissues to wallpaper her house…inside and out."

"Aleurites moluccana is the zoological classification for the candlenut tree."

"Who'd give a tree a dumb name like Al…er…Al…what you said? Why are we looking for it anyway?"

"It has a plethora of uses. One of which as caster oil from the nuts."

"Yuck!"

"The same oil can be burned in lamps, used in cooking and as a non-allergenic hair tonic. The bark is utilized in Japan to treat tumors."

"Sounds like a shmoo."

"A what?"

"A shmoo. You know from Li'l Abner. Don't you ever read the comics, Professor?"

"I never had the inclination."

"Well, anyway there this kind of animal, kind of looks like a bowling pin with legs and whiskers, that gives both milk and eggs and taste like pork, beef or chicken depending on how you cook them."

I refrained from commenting on the outrageously fanciful concept and chose to simply ignore it. "But my primary motive in locating the plant is to collect the leaves. I am hoping to create something that will alleviate those headaches Mr. Howell has been complaining about recently."

"Yeah, you don't want to be around him when he's got one of those. I was listening to the Mosquitoes the other day and he stormed out of his hut and said:" Gilligan has an amazing talent for mimicry and he managed to simulate Mr. Howell's inflections flawlessly. " 'Gilligan, turn that infernal racket off! I think those blasted hippies are trying to rattle the teeth out of my head. Worse than road construction!'" Gilligan's voice switched back to his own. "Really, Professor, I thought he was going to bust the radio."

I unequivocally side with Mr. Howell on Gilligan's musical preferences. The younger generation's affinity with the shrill tunelessness of rock and roll will always remain an enigma.

As we continued our trek I returned my concentration to the flora and fauna. The island is the picture of diversity and I managed to collect several insect and plant specimens previously unknown to me. Gilligan piped up with a question every time I stopped. Considering his inquisitiveness I have always found Gilligan's lack of basic education somewhat of a conundrum.

"Hey, it's Doreen!"

At Gilligan's unexpected announcement I turned just in time to see a crow-sized bird alight on his outstretched hand. The creature had a long curved beak and a fanning, v-shaped tail. Over all, the feathers were a shimmering black with the exception of the brown tail feathers with white tips and a brilliant splash of sun-yellow under the wings. I was stunned! Amazed at the apparition that Gilligan was now so casually chatting at.

"Hey, girl. Where have you been? I haven't seen you in awhile." With a gentle finger he stroked the bird's chest. It seemed completely unperturbed at the contact.

"Gilligan, do you know what that is?"

He gave me an odd look. "It's a bird. I named her Doreen after my aunt. She always carries this bright yellow purse under her arm and it kind of looks like this." He touched the yellow spot under the bird's wing.

"Gilligan, that's a Moho apicalis! No one has seen one since the early nineteenth century! George Munro declared it extinct in the 1890's." I know my mouth was gaping open in astonishment. I had studied much on the birds of the Hawaiian islands and this was one of the extinct species that had caught my interest.

"Maybe she's just been hiding. You want to pet her?"

"Do you think she would allow it?"

"Sure."

A giddy anticipation welled up inside me. The feeling evoked memories of my first steps into New York's Museum of Natural History. But this was not a stuffed specimen from a diorama. It was a living, breathing memorial of the past and its close proximity took my breath away. I reached gingerly forward and the bird pecked inquisitively at my hand but did not protest as I touched the smooth plumes. "Extraordinary!"

"Yeah, she is pretty."

"The native Hawaiians used this yellow plumage of these birds in their royal feather work. They created amazing capes and headdresses."

Gilligan frowned a little. "Is that what killed them off?"

"Doubtful. The royal bird-catcher guild used a sticky substance on the branches of the ohia tree to trap this bird. They would pluck a few of the yellow feathers and release it. It was a harmless procedure. Disease from non-indigenous species is suspected to be the culprit."

I was perplexed by the odd grin that appeared on Gilligan's face. "Did I say something amusing?"

He snickered a little. "I was just picturing a bunch of birds with bald patches all over." With a sharp cry the bird flew from Gilligan's hand and vanished into the jungle foliage. "I guess she didn't think it was very funny."

"Perhaps Mr. Howell will loan me his camera and I can take a picture of her. When we are rescued the world of ornithology will be thrilled to know there are still some in existence." I will always be amazed by Gilligan's connection with animals. In all my years I have never observed anyone so readily gain the trust of undomesticated creatures.

_Dear Diary,_

I couldn't believe how exited the Profesor got about Doreen. I didn't know he liked animals so much. I mean, I know that he knows practically everything about them. But thats not always the same.

The furthur we walked the deeper the thicker the jungle got. We were pretty near the middle of the island when the Profesor said we had to watch our step because of the quicksand. No prodlem there! Back home when I'd watch all those Tarzan pictures Dad alwayz told me that quicksand was just made up for the movies and it really didn't work that way. He was wrong. I'v seen how fast quicksand works and let me tell you, its real alright.

Well, I was watching my step real close like the Profesor said. And that was the prodlem. Do you ever find it hard to watch your feet and where your going at the same time? I didn't even see that low hanging branch. It caught me full in the forhead, knocked me off balance and I staggered backwards a few feet. Then suddenly I sank. It was like stepping into really thick grainy oatmeal. Before I even realised what happened I was knee deep in the stuff. I tried to step out of it but that only pulled me in deeper. "Professor!" I screamed as loud as I could, hoping that he hadn't gone too far ahead. "_Help!_"

He came running through the brush and skidded to a stop at the edge of the quicksand. "Gilligan! Good heavens! The ladder, Gilligan. Swing the ladder over to me."

"What ladder?" I was so scared it felt like someone was trying to strangle me and I know my voice squeaked like a little kittens.

"The one your holding!"

"What? Oh." I finally remembered that I had the bamboo ladder slung over my shoulder. I did like he said and swung the ladder over to him. He put his end on the ground, got to his knees and sat on it so the other end was sticking out toward me.

"It's secure on this end. Climb out."

And I did. As fast as I could! He grabbed my hand as I reached him and hauled me out the rest of the way. For a minute we both sat there panting like a dog on a really hot day.

Then the Profesor turned to me, he look really sore. "I _told_ you to watch where you were going!" Then he let out this long sigh. I knew exactly what it meant. He was starting to think it wasn't such a good idea to bring me along.

_Personal Journal_

At that point I was beginning to seriously reevaluate my decision to have Gilligan accompany me. He is a very amiable and well-meaning young man but his unparalleled ability to get into trouble can wreck havoc on ones nerves. Mine were already beginning to fray. I had specifically warned him to be cautious and watch his step. If he had heeded that advice he wouldn't have put his own life at stake. Was it carelessness, lack of concentration, apathy? I was uncertain. But I was frustrated. How could I concentrate on my work if I had to watch him every moment?


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

_Dear Diary_

I think it took us about three hours to get to where the Professor wanted to go. It took that long mostly becauze he had to stop every few minutes to look at some plant or bug. Sometimes he would pickup the thing he was looking at. If it was a bug sometimes he'd put it in one of the glass jars he brought with him and if it was a plant he'd put it in between the pages of that big journal. He usually let me look at the bugs he caught. Some of them were really pretty with all kinds of shiny colors, but others just looked like plain old bugs.

We stepped out of the thick jungle and into a grassy clearing with a few big leafy trees in the middle and the Professor said we were there. Those trees were what he was looking fore. Candle nut trees. He said they are called that becauze the natives burn the nuts like candles. They even tell time by them! He explained it to me but I'm still not sure how it works. Something about how long they burn. That'd be some crazy wristwatch!

We set up the ladder against one of the trees and he started to pick the nutz and leaves while I held the bottom of the ladder so it wouldn't fall over. He started telling me all about how he was going to turn the leaves into mebicine. He used a lot of really big words and I didn't understand even one of them. Sometimes I wish the Professor would learn to speak English.

We hadn't been there for very long when the jungle was filled with a sound that made me turn cold all over. Drums. I've heard that sound before and hoped like crazy that it didn't mean what I thought. The Professor didn't seem to notice it at all!

"Profesor, do you hear that?" My brother used to tell me that I squeak like a little girl when I get scared. I guess he's kinda right. But I can't help it. My throat clozes up and it hardly lets me talk at all.

The Professor didn't even look down. I tried again, but he was so busy that he didn't even hear me! So I reached up and tapped him on the leg but he still didn't look down, he just said: "Gilligan, there is a spider up here that I can't identify. I'll have to check my book but I believe it's a new species! Hand me a jar."

I did. "Professor, I think we're in trouble!"

"What do you mean?" I don't think he was really listening to me.

"Don't you hear it?" By that time I was wondering if the drums were just in my head and I was going crazy.

"Hear what?"

I shook the ladder a little hoping that would keep his attention. "The _drums_!"

He grabbed a branch and looked down. He wasn't very happy. "Gilligan, I told you to hold…" Suddenly he stopped and his eyes got big as he looked off into the jungle. And I knew he heard them too. "Good heavens! Drums!"

"That's what I been tryin to tell you!"

He climbed down fast, grabbed a bag and slung it over his shoulder. "Grab the ladder, Gilligan. We have to get back to camp."

I picked up the other bag, got the ladder and followed him. "What is it Professor?" I already knew but I was really hoping he would tell me I was wrong.

"Headhunters."

Nope, I was right. I tugged at my collar and unbuttoned the top button. Sudenly it felt way too tight. I can't stand it when the headhunters show up at all, but what was even worse was that we were so far away from our friends. The girls and the Howell's wouldn't know what to do if the headhunters attacked! The Skipper would try and protect them. But if there were more than five or six natives he'd be outnumbered. They needed our help. I hated the thought that we might get back to camp and find that someone had lost their head or was even killed.

_Personal Journal_

I started into the jungle at a run but Gilligan's voice stopped me.

"Professor, wait!" I stopped and waited for him to catch up. "There's a shortcut." He pointed off to the right. "It's a lot faster."

I have studied and thoroughly choreographed this island but I do not believe I shall ever know it as well as Gilligan. I readily agreed and he took the lead. I hurried along through the dense vegetation behind Gilligan who was following no trail that I could discern and for a moment I wondered why I was following him, of all people, in a moment of crisis. However he seemed to know exactly where he was going.

Our path soon came upon and followed a deep fissure in the earth, once a crack in a lava flow, the bottom of which had long since filled with sand. A remarkable landmark.

Gilligan's fear of our situation was made quite clear as he blazed the trail for he started violently at nearly every sound. At one point he stepped on a particularly large twig and the snap sent him nearly three feet in the air.

This behavior alone should have dissuaded me from walking too close. However, my thoughts were on the mortal peril that had returned to our little island and how we could possibly counteract the designs of our malevolent intruders. I was also quite concerned about our absence in such a critical situation.

I was walking just behind and to his right when a primate shrieked from somewhere over our heads. Gilligan jumped at the sound and turned abruptly, swinging the ladder with him. Although I foresaw the calamity about to occur my reflexes were not sufficient to prevent it. The ladder hit me full in the side, knocking me a step to the right. My foot met open air and I felt myself falling. Basic instinct kicked in and my hands automatically searched for something to stabilize me. My left hand caught a rung of the ladder and held fast, not having the presence of mind to realize that such an action would only upset Gilligan's balance as well. The force with which I hit the bottom of the depression knocked the air from my lungs. Milliseconds later the ladder clattered to the ground, followed by Gilligan who managed to land squarely on top of me. With the collision of our two bodies I both heard and felt a 'snap' in my right foot accompanied by a sharp, blinding pain. During the impact some part of Gilligan's anatomy struck me firmly in the back of the head. My vision split, blurred then went dark.

_Dear Diary_

I untangled myself from the Professor and stood up and rubbed my elbow. I'd hit it on something hard but I wasn't sure what. We'd fallen into a deep hole. Well, I guess it was more like a really deep crack. The drums were still beating like crazy and my hart was pounding along with them. Those headhunters could be back at camp any minute. The Skipper and Mr. Howell couldn't hold a bunch of them off all by themselves. There was a slope off to the right that I could climb up and I started for it when I realised that the Professor hadn't moved. This was a really bad time to be lying down on the job.

"Come on, Professor, this is no time to take a nap. We'v got to get back to camp." I started to climb. I thought he would get up and follow me. But he didn't.

I moved back over to him and kneeled down. He hadn't moved an inch. "Hey, Professor?" I put my hand on his back and shook him a little, hoping that would wake him up. He didn't so much as blink. I was starting to get scared. Something was really wrong with him. "Professor? Professor! Please get up!"

_Personal Journal_

I must have lost consciousness for the next thing I remember is feeling a hand n my shoulder and hearing Gilligan's panic-stricken voice: "Professor, come on. We've got to get out of here. Wake up…please!" The young man's voice broke and morphed to a trembling whisper. "Please don't be dead."

I opened my eyes as consciousness took a firm hold on me. Gilligan's face took up most of my vision.

"Professor! You're not dead." The young man's knack for stating the obvious never ceases to amaze me. At the instant of death brain functions cease including the processing of information from pain receptors. The pounding in the back of my head and the burning sensation in my right foot informed me incontestably that they were functioning at peak efficiency. "We've got to get back and help the others. Here, let me help you up."

Before I could protest Gilligan had grabbed my hand and with one forceful tug pulled me upright. In rising I had the presence of mind to keep my full weight off my foot, however the simple change in position compounded the discomfort. That discomfort must have been mirrored in my face for Gilligan's demeanor switched from one of urgency to concern. "You alright, Professor?"

"I've injured my foot. I believe it's fractured."

He glanced down. "Do you think it's broken?"

"Gilligan, that's what I just said!" My irritation with Gilligan's ignorance rose along with the frustration of our predicament. And the pain did little to settle my emotions. "I told you to be careful with that ladder!"

Attempting to continue standing on one foot was difficult and my balance faltered. Gilligan instantly reached out to help steady me. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…" His voice trailed off before he began a new thought. "Gee, if I help do you think you can walk on it?" He pulled my left arm over his shoulders and slipped a hand around my waist, effectively stabilizing me further.

"I don't know." I made an attempt to take a step but the weight was too much and my leg gave way beneath me. Despite his slight frame and my sudden downward pull Gilligan's grip did not falter and he carefully lowered me to the ground.

Gilligan glanced up at the edge of the crevasse, which couldn't have been much higher than six feet. "I wouldn't think a little fall like that could break a foot."

Looking back, I am now ashamed of these words. But at the time the pain, the realization that I was completely incapacitated in a time when my friends were in dire need of assistance and my anger at Gilligan's incompetence had effectively unbridled my tongue. "It wasn't the fall, Gilligan. It was the landing…yours!"

I found myself thinking that I should have known better than to take Gilligan with me. His unique ability to unwittingly cause destruction was something I should have taken into consideration. I was about to say these very things aloud when I realized that he already knew.

_Dear Diary,_

And that's when I realised what had hapened. I didn't mean to hurt him. I really didn't! I felt so bad about it I thought I was going to throw up. "I'm sorry. If I'd know I was going to break your foot I would have tried to fall someqlace else. What do you want me to do?"

"Get me a firm ropelike vine, several feet long."

I nodded and hurried up the slope, grabbing a bush to help me up over the edge. Now that I think about it I guess I could have used the ladder… There are all kinds of vines in the jungle so it didn't take very long before I had what the Professor wanted and hurried back. I hopped down into the big crack, careful this time not to land on the Professor. He had his shoe off and was runing his fingers over the outside of his foot and ankle. By the looks of his face it hurt a lot. "You alright?" I asked as I handed him the vine.

"Yes." Then he said a bunch of big words that I can't remember. I think they were names of bones and stuff. With the Professor you can never be sure. But I got the idea he meant his foot was busted pretty good.

He took one of the big canvas bags he'd brought, emptied it out and used the vine to tie it around his foot. He said that was so it wouldn't move around too much.

"Is that going to fix it so you can walk?" I was ready to leave. I was worried about the Skipper and the girls and the Howells. And thoze drums beating in the background didn't help at all.

I think he was mad that I had even asked. "Gilligan, if I could walk I wouldn't be sitting here…" He moved his leg a little and his face squinted up and turned red. For a second there I thought he was going to explode.

_Personal Journal_

For a brief moment the pain was all but unbearable but it gradually eased into dull but severely distracting throb. "Gilligan, I'm incapacitated. It's as simple as that."

His gaze flicked from the edge of the crevasse to my foot and back again, his brow furrowed in thought. "Well, only one foot's decapitated, right? You could try hopping on the other one."

Despite the pain I nearly laughed at the absurdity of the remark. "Even if I could my stride would be dangerously slow. You need to get back to the others."

His frown deepened and his eyes widened. "I'm not leaving you here! I could—" He searched the jungle around us as if doing so would produce sudden revelation. "I…I could carry you!"

"Gilligan, that's a noble gesture. But even if you could carry me the weight would slow you. Then we would both be caught and soon missing an essential part of our anatomy."

He seemed to pale before my eyes and his hand went to his neck.

"Our friends need you. When the opportunity arises bring someone back for me. I'll be alright here, Gilligan. Really." Honestly I was quite frightened. I was in severe discomfort, defenseless and savages were stalking about the island. However, I realized that our fellow castaways' danger was much greater than my own and that Gilligan, despite his ineptness would be at least another pair of hands should it come to a physical battle.

He was torn. I could see it. For a long moment he stared up at the rim of the fissure. It was clear that he wanted to go. Finally his jaw set and he sat down beside me. "If you're staying here then I am too."

"Gilligan that's admirable but foolish. The others—"

"I don't care if it's dumb, stupid or knuckleheaded. I'm not leaving you here by yourself." He punctuated this remark by crossing his arms theatrically. "Besides, they probably heard the drums too and they're hiding. And if they're not they have the Skipper and Mr. Howell's got a sword. And at least there are five of them. If those natives found this place you'd be all by yourself."

I was surprised and touched by his determination no matter how misplaced. "Gilligan…"

"I'm not leaving, Professor. And you can't make me."

_Dear Diary,_

I was so scared I thought I would chatter the fillings right out of my teeth and it took everything I had not to run. I wanted to just get up and run as fast as I could back to camp and make sure the others were okay. But I couldn't. This whole mess was my fault. The Professor was hurt becauze of me and I wasn't going to leave him out there all alone. I don't care how smart he is he couldn't defend himself against headhunters in this hole with a busted foot.

So we just sat there, both of us, staring up at the jungle and listening to those aweful drums.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

_Dear Diary_

Around about evening thoze drums were still going and I was starved. We'd been in that hole about three hours and it was way past lunch. As a matter of fact I had a feeling it was about time for dinner too. I think for awhile we were so scared that we kinda forgot about food. But the jungle got dark really fast and my stomach told me that I had waited long enough.

"You hungry, Professor?"

"A little." I thought he sounded kinda depressed

I stood up and tried to talk like one of those funny French waiters. "So on ze menu today ve have coconuts, bananas and pinapples. Or if you prefer ve have pinapples, bananas and coconuts."

He smiled like I was hoping he would.

_Personal Journal_

The French accent had caught me completely by surprise. Gilligan was frightened for his own safety as well as that of our fellow castaways' and the last thing I had expected was for him to make jokes. However, the bit of humor eased the tension, which I expect was his intention. It made me forget, just for a brief moment our dire predicament. "The first choice sounds good. Could I also order a bottle of aqua naturalis 1966?"

His faux accent faded. "Huh?"

"Would you fill up the canteen?"

He took it from me and bowed. "Your order will be ready in a moment."

"But seriously Gilligan, whatever happens to be closest is fine. I would rather you didn't wander too far."

He nodded and quickly scrambled up the steep slope.

Only a short time later he hopped from the ledge to the bottom of the depression, which made me quite nervous considering my recent experience. He handed me one of two papayas and the filled canteen.

"Those drums give me the creeps." He shivered a bit and lowered himself to the ground at my side. "Do you think they're close?"

"It's difficult to tell. The sheer mountains and valleys affect the acoustics of this whole area."

"Oh."

The uncertainty in his voice moved me to clarify. "It creates an echo effect. Makes it impossible to pinpoint a source."

His voice rose an octave. "You mean they could be right over the next ridge and we couldn't tell the difference?"

"Basically."

He shuddered a slightly, clearly just as unnerved I was over the uncertainty of our predicament. After a moment he regained his composure and reached for the machete, no doubt to dice our dinner when suddenly he froze, his fingers inches away from their goal and his eyes staring at nothing that I could make out. He quickly straightened. "Do you hear that?"

I listened but was unable to discern what had arrested his attention. "I don't hear anything."

"That's just it! The drums have stopped!"

It was true. The rhythmic beating had ceased and the darkened jungle was now relatively silent, disturbed only by the nocturnal calls of indigenous wildlife. I was not surprised. "Some of the native tribes believe the moon is an evil spirit and are afraid to hunt at night."

"So they're not hunting?" He rose to his feet earnestly, not giving me time to respond. "You'll be safe now. I'm gonna go get help."

"No, Gilligan." This stopped him before he reached the ladder. "It's too late."

Gilligan gasped in horror and even in the faint moonlight I could see his face pale. "_Too late_? You mean they're all-"

"No. That's not what I meant at all. I meant it's too dark. There is quicksand all around this area. It would be impossible for you to navigate safely in this light." The scant illumination was only part of my concern. Gilligan's mind would certainly be on the headhunters and the safety of our fellow castaways, not on the path ahead. After the incident this morning I was loathe to let him navigate such a hazardous area at night.

_Dear Diary_

I wanted to go back to camp so bad. I wanted to get help for the Professor but even more I wanted to go back and make sure everybuddy was okay. I was so worried my stomake felt like it had once when I'd eaten that bad chily cheeze dog at the Chum Bucket back in Hawaii. I was so worried, especially about the Skipper. Sure he was the strongest guy I'd ever met but if they were attacked he would stand and fight while the others got away. He's really brave like that but I was scared it would get him killed.

But as much as I didn't like it the Professor was right. Quicksand was all over this part of the island and it is hard to tell between it and regular ground during the day. It would be impossible at night. I guess getting myself drown wasn't going to help anybody. So I just sat down beside the Professor. I felt useless and I didn't like it. I really wanted to _do_ something

"Do you think the others are alright?" I asked.

"We'v dealt with headhunters before. They most likely heard the drums, as we did, and took action. They're probably hiding in one of the caves." He didn't sound as sure as I wisht he did. In fact he sounded really worried. It didn't make me feel better at all.

We were both real quiet for a long time and all we could hear was crickets. Then he took a deep shaky breath and ran both hands through his hair. He was really upset. I could tell. He didn't touch his hair unless he was upset or nervous.

_Personal Journal_

I was trying to convince Gilligan as well as myself that circumstances were not as dire as they appeared to be. But I was deluding myself. Together we had strength in numbers and could pool our talents; my tactical knowledge, the Skipper's strength, Mr. Howell's cunning, Gilligan's agility. But now we were separated, disconnected and disorganized. Mr. Howell and the women had no experience when it came to this kind of confrontation. The Skipper was their only real protection and even he was no match for a native war party. My only hope was that they had the foresight to find an adequate place of concealment and hide until the danger passed. But even that was of little assurance. The savages of these islands are known for their uncanny tracking abilities.

Lamenting the unalterable past was counterproductive and I knew it. Nonetheless I found myself thinking that none of this would have happened if we had not been marooned on this island. If my experiments had been successful...if I had fixed the transmitter...

Apparently my distress was much more obvious than I had believed for Gilligan's soft voice soon broke the silence.

"You're worried too, huh?"

I shook my head, frustrated at my own failure. "I've been a fool."

_Dear Diary_

"You are not!" I didn't mean to yell but what the Professor had said surprised me so much. A fool? The Professor? With all the stuff he knows how could he ever feel like that? "You're the smartest guy I ever met!"

"I highly doubt that."

"Sure you are. There's nothin you can't do with that lab of yours."

"I haven't been able to get us off this island."

That threw me off a little bit. "Well gee, Professor, neither has anybody else"

"Yes, but...I should have come up with something by now."

"Actually I have alwayz wondered how come you don't just build a boat. I mean you've built plenty of rafts."

The Professor sighed, like he'd heard this question before. "Gilligan, building a small unmanned raft that has the possibility of drifting into the shipping lanes is an entirely different concept from building a navigable craft large enough and stable enough to carry seven people and supplies over unpredictable seas for an undefined period of time. It would simply be unsafe. Besides none of my degrees are in nautical engineering. I don't believe even I would trust a vessel of my own design, especially not with the limited materials here on the island. There's also the question of a reliable power source. It wouldn't be practical to row that distance and we couldn't count on the wind."

I guess that made sense. "Well, when you put it that way."

"But still.." He shook his head and frowned like he was mad at himself. "I have six degrees. I should be able to come up with something. Instead we're still marooned, facing typhoons and savages at every turn."

That's when I realised something. The Professor felt resqonsible. It wasn't his fault we were stuck here. But he thought it was. I could tell and I felt really bad for him. Maybe there was one thing I could say to make him feel better, but I didn't know if I should. I hadn't told anybody before.

_Personal Journal_

Gilligan was quiet for a long time before finally speaking up in a meek voice. "Professor, can you keep a secret? I mean if I tell you something do you promise not to tell anybody?"

I found myself somewhat startled by the question. Gilligan had never struck me as a secretive person. In fact over the period of our island exile I have discovered that one should not divulge information to him unless you wish it to be spread throughout the community. He is quite reliable on that point. My mind traced the possibilities of what such an open young man as Gilligan would want to keep veiled from the rest of us. It must be something serious. Could he have found something? Was he keeping some kind of pet he feared losing? "It really depends on how what you have to say would affect the others. If it were to pose some kind of danger…"

Gilligan shook his head. "No, it's nothing like that. It's just about me."

On the other hand it could be as simple as his once secret diary. "I give you my solemn assurance that I will not divulge your secret to another soul."

He gave me an odd look and I realized I had gone over his head again. Before I could rephrase he held up his little finger. "Pinky swear?"

I was unfamiliar with the action or how to respond but it was obviously some sort of covenant-confirming ritual. Taking an uneducated guess I held up my finger as well, matching his gesture. He wrapped his finger around mine and his young face took on an air of significance. "You promise never to tell a living soul, not even the Howell's or Ginger or Mary Ann or the Skipper..." He paused a moment before adding: "Especially not the Skipper, not even after we're rescued?"

"I promise."

He nodded and let go.

I waited with interest but he suddenly seemed to become very nervous. He looked down and shifted a bit as if having second thoughts about confiding in me. There was a long silence and for a moment I thought he had changed his mind. But finally, in barely a whisper I heard: "I like it here."

I was uncertain how to respond and not quite sure I understood him correctly. "You like it here?"

He nodded. "I don't want to leave. Sure there are things I miss about civilization like hamburgers and movies. But life isn't so bad here. I mean, everybody's nice and we don't have to lock our doors, our food is free and Mary Ann is a great cook. And if we get rescued everybody'll go back to where they used to live before and…" He gave a small shrug. "…we won't be a family anymore."

There was both deep emotion and amazing insight in the confession. I had not expected something so philosophical. But there was still something I did not understand. Why the secrecy? I voiced the question.

Gilligan looked at me as if surprised that I would ask. "They'll think I do it on purpose."

I frowned, still perplexed. "Do what?"

"Mess things up. Every time we're about to get rescued something bad happens and it's usually my fault. If they knew they'll think I'm trying to keep everybody here. And I'm not, Professor. Really. Things just seem to happen when I'm around."

I knew he was right. If the others were aware of this secret desire, he would certainly receive more than the usual abuse over his frequent mishaps.

_Dear Diary_

It felt kind of funny telling and I waited for him to get mad at me. But he didn't. He just grinned. "It's my turn for confession." He said. "I like it here too."

"You _do?_" I nearly fell over.

"Although I do wish to be rescued, I have found our exile on this dessert isle quite rewarding."

"Yeah?"

He nodded. "I am discovering new species practically every day! Some scientists would give a limb to experience some of the things that I have witnessed on this island."

He moved a little, like he was trying to find a more comfortadle position. Suddenly his hand went to his leg and he hissed like he'd taken a quick breath through his teeth.

"You kinda did. Are you okay?"

He sounded like he wasn't. "I'm alright...considering."

"Does it hurt much?"

"Some. Mostly when I move it."

I tried to swallow the lump that had suddenly formed in my throat. "Sorry."

"I've been through worse."

"Yeah?"

"Broke my..." Well, I can't remember what big names he used but he pointed to his shoulder and arm. "Actually that incident involved a ladder as well. I was demonstrating to my class the physics of gravity by dropping a ball of rubber to the floor from the top of a ladder. Unfortunately I hadn't taken the precaution of stabilizing the ladder beforehand. I lost my balance and the whole thing toppled over with me on it. Snapped my collar bone and a tendon in my arm, all right in front of my entire class." He laughed, which kind of confused me becauze it sounded like that would have hurt a lot. "On the up side I am sure it's a lesson in gravity they will never forget. On the down side I was awarded my picture in the school yearbook with the subheading 'Clumsiest Teacher—Roy Hinkly'"

I frowned. "Who?"

"Me."

"Oh, right." I felt kinda silly. After all we'd been shipwrecked together for a long time. "I'm so used to calling you Professor I guess I forgot you've got a real name." The Professor, clumzy? Those were two words I never thought I would hear together! It's funny to hear some body else called that besides me.

He didn't sound upset at it at all about me forgetting his name. He just nodded. "People have been calling me that for so long sometimes I forget too."

"Yeah. I know what you mean. I haven't heard my first name since before we left Hawaii and then only when I called my parents. So all your stubents called you Professor too, huh?"

"Yes. But it began long before that."

"Before that? You mean you were called 'Professor' before you were a professor?"

"Since fifth grade, actually."

"It was a school nickname?"

He nodded.

"Wow. You're lucky you got a nice name like 'Professor', and not something like Dopey, Left Feet or Laces."

The Professor sounded a little confused. "Laces?"

I shrugged and glanced down at my untied shoes. I still can't make those dumb bows right.

"Oh, I see."

"I bet they called you Professor becauze you were a real smart kid."

He sounded kinda embarassed and I knew I was right. "Well, I belive it was mostly because had a tendancy to correct my teachers."

I felt my jaw drop. "You corrected your _teachers?_"

"My father had an extensive library in our basement and I would research the subjects we were studying in school. Often my fathers texts were more recent and accurate than my schoolbooks. So I frequently found myself involved in debates with my science and history teachers."

I still couldn't belive it. I used to argue with my brother all the time but never with a teacher. They know everything. And the Professor was smarter than them even when he was a kid!

_Personal Journal_

I still recall the first time someone addressed me as 'Professor'. I had just been released from science class where I had voiced my disagreement with the school's antiquated textbooks' view on physics. Just after opening my locker a certain disagreeable child by the name of Joe Graham and his rather large friends greeted me with: "Nice going Professor. Arguing with the teacher again!" It seems that several other students overheard this comment and from that moment on I found myself answering to the name 'Professor. "Actually," I continued. "The next year I was, somewhat unwillingly, signed up for the chess team under the alias 'Professor'." Before I had time to think about the question I found myself asking Gilligan; "Did you ever play chess in school?"

Gilligan shook his head. "Naw, only checkers. With my parents mostly. Chess was for the smart kids."

The remark stung and I am still uncertain as to the cause. Perhaps it was the self depreciating comment itself that caught me off guard. I had not realized that Gilligan had such low self esteem. Before I had a chance to speak he continued.

"You were lucky. School was easy for you."

"What do you mean?"

Gilligan shook his head a little. "School was hard and my teachers were always getting mad at me."

With Gilligan's tendency to make light of everything I could see how he could be at odds with scholastic authority. "Class clown?"

He was quiet for a moment and I wonder if the comment had injured him. After a moment he gave a small shrug. "Well, maybe a little. But they kept telling me that everything I did was backwards. They thought I was trying to be funny. But I wasn't."

"Backwards?" I asked, intrigued. Some of Gilligan's logic and actions could be described with that word but by the context it didn't seem that is what he meant.

"The letters. They were all backwards and mixed up. Nothing looked like they said it should. Even my art teacher flunked me. She said I couldn't draw my way out of a paper bag." He shook his head. "I don't understand how the other kids learned to read so easy! I tried just as hard. I really did." He gave a melancholy sigh. "I learned eventually. But I'm still not as good as everyone else."

It was an epiphany.

I was overcome...struck speechless by the unexpected revelation. How could I have been so blind? As I stared at him, his cap glowing in the faint illumination I realized that I had been looking at the young man in the wrong light all these years.

Gilligan had perfectly described the symptoms of dyslexia a condition caused by the failure of the brain to establish hemispheric dominance resulting in an extreme difficulty comprehending the written word. Also called word blindness.

I had always suspected that Gilligan's educational deficiency was due to lack of academic enthusiasm on his part. How could I have misjudged him so severely? I felt I like a failure both as a scientist and a friend. As a man of science I always dig deeper, trying to understand the true nature of things around me. How, then, could I have passed sentence on a human being, a friend, simply by outward appearances? A disability with the written word is anything but Gilligan's fault. That difficulty, I realized, would have made learning any other subject arduous as well, since modern education relies heavily on textbooks. No wonder his knowledge of history and literature is lacking! I had loved reading since I was a child and I can scarcely imagine going through life with a difficulty in something so basic. And yet, Gilligan had. I couldn't help but think of how much he must have missed; so much knowledge of the amazing world we live in and how it works, great works of literature, the marvelous accomplishments of world history.

Why had I not seen it before? I _should_ have seen it before. All the signs were there right under my nose; his faulty spelling, his affection for comic books, (a form of entertainment that is mostly visual with minimal reading required), his poor hand-eye coordination.

Then another thought hit me.

"But you were in the Navy. You must have graduated high school." This was a feat that, moments before I had thought nothing of but now, realizing the boy's struggle, I found myself struck with tremendous admiration.

Gilligan sighed. "Just barely. With a D average. They said they'd pass me if I just showed up every day." His voice was a bit quieter as he spoke again. "I donno, sometimes I wonder if I really _am_ as dumb as everybody says."

I grabbed his arm and he started. "Gilligan, you're not dumb." The young man may have been short on education and occasionally common sense but he was far from unintelligent and I was appalled at the negativity that I was hearing. Although looking back I should not have been surprised. From his account it appears that ever since childhood he has been labeled as slow and even now the man he looks up to the most frequently insults his intelligence.

There was an awkward pause and even though I could not clearly see his expression I had the feeling he was not taking my declaration seriously. "Well I'm sure not real smart like you. You know everything."

I could scarcely believe the absurdity of the statement. "Gilligan, believe me, I don't know everything. Sometimes I'm amazed at how much I don't know, or just plain couldn't see."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

_Personal Journal_

I had been awake most of the night; morning was well along before the dull throb in my foot coupled with the sound of beating drums roused me from a fitful sleep. The events of the day before flooded into my mind: The hike, drums, headhunters, the fall...Gilligan.

There was a soft moan to my right where I found Gilligan, curled up in the sand at my side, his back to me. His head shook slightly from side to side, and although his voice was slurred in sleep the words were quite clear. "No. Please, no! Let them go...can't..."

He was clearly having a nightmare. By the sound of it, not unlike the one I had been in the midst of just before I awoke. "Gilligan." I gave his shoulder a small tap, attempting to rouse him from whatever unconscious ordeal had gripped him.

The moment I touched him his respiration quickened and he let out a strangled cry. Still asleep, he swatted an arm back as if trying to fend off an attacker. "No. Stop! I won't let you!" His hat slipped from his head as he restlessly rolled over. His eyes were still closed but the expression of horror was unmistakable.

"Gilligan, wake up!" This time I gave him a firm shake.

He took in a quick breath and his eyes shot open. In an instant he leaped to his feet, fists clenched and executed a complete 360 turn, no doubt searching for the assailants from his dream. A moment later his eyes fell upon me and he relaxed slightly. "Oh, Professor, it's just you." He picked his hat and flopped onto the ground beside me. "What a nightmare! I dreamed there were all these headhunters and..." His voice trailed off and his face paled. I could see realization take a firm hold on him. "Drums! Professor, they're still here!"

"Yes but the beating of the drums means-"

"What are we going to-"

A twig snapped. Both of us were instantly silent as a rustling sound grew in the undergrowth.

"P-Proffessor? Is it...?" Gilligan's voice was scarcely more than a breath.

I simply nodded, scarcely able to breathe myself. I was certain my pulse had just risen several digits for I could hear my heart pounding in my ears.

"M-maybe it's just an ape." Gilligan said hopefully.

If only. "Those drums are loud enough in this area to send most animals to their dens." I said, wishing most fervently that I could agree with his theory.

The sound of rustling foliage grew louder. They were unmistakably moving in our direction.

Without warning Gilligan climbed to his feet and made a move toward the ladder. I reached out and seized his arm. "What are you doing?" I hissed in a whisper. "If you go out there they'll see you!"

"They're coming right this way. If I stay here they'll find us anyway. But if I go maybe I can lead them away and they won't find you." I was startled by the young man's selflessness, although in retrospect I shouldn't have been. He had always shown a willingness to abandon his own comfort or safety for the sake of his friends. I could see the fear in his eyes but there was also a strong determination, a resolution and acceptance of fate that I had never witnessed in him before.

Nevertheless I held my grip. "Gilligan, that's suicide!"

"Professor, you're the smart one. Everybody needs you." He managed a small smile. "I'm only Gilligan." With that he wrenched his arm from my grasp.

"Gilligan, stop!" I tried to grab him again, but he had darted up and out of sight before I could even try to get to my feet. I could scarcely believe what he was attempting. Did he not realize the stealth and speed of these trained hunters? Was he ignorant of what a grisly death awaited him?

Scarcely seconds passed before I heard his voice some distance away.

"Hey, over here! Yeah, I'm talkin' to you, big fat and ugly! Come and get me."

I waited in silent horror for the sounds I knew were coming; the native's war yell, the sound of spears slicing through the air, Gilligan's cry of pain. But to my astonishment that's not what I heard.

"Gilligan, you get over here, and that's an order!" A flock of finches burst from the tree overhead, startled by the booming voice. An intense relief washed over me and I sagged against the wall of the crevasse. I do not believe I have ever been more happy to hear anyone.

"Skipper?" Gilligan sounded confused and uncertain before his voice quickly switched to a relived exclamation. "Skipper! It's you! I thought you were a headhunter."

I heard a familiar 'whack' as the Skipper's hat made contact with Gilligan's head. "Where have you been? I've been looking all over the island for you and the…ep…where is the Professor?"

"The Professor! Oh, my gosh, the Professor! He's over here, Skipper. He's hurt. He can't walk."

As they drew nearer I could hear both worry and outrage in the Skipper's voice. "What is the matter with you? Why didn't you come for help?"

"I didn't want to leave him alone with all those headhunters around."

"Why do you keep babbling about headhunters? What headhunters?"

"Those drums, Skipper. Don't you hear them?"

"You birdbrain, that's Ginger! She's been rehearsing the war dance sequence from some Indian movie she was in."

I was a fool, a complete fool. Now that I listened carefully I could hear that the beat was nothing like the native rhythm we have observed in the past. How could I have been so carelessly unobservant? The error had caused me a great deal of pain and both Gilligan and I a night full of worry.

On the other hand I was never more happy to be wrong.

_Dear Diary_

The Skipper had no problem picking the Professor up and halling him, piggy-back up that ladder. It was pretty funny-looking and if I wasn't so upset then I woulda laughed. Once they got to the top the Skipper moved him around so he was carrying him in both arms. He was really careful with him so he wouldn't hurt his foot any more.

I got to carry the ladder and the Professor's bags, you know, the ones with the nuts and stuff in them.

"How did this happen Professor?" The Skipper asked we started walking.

I felt suddenly sick. It was my fault, every bit of it. I'd pushed him over and fell on him. And I could have gone for help a lot sooner, but I didn't. I already felt awful about it, I just wanted to crawl in a hole and never come out again. But even worse if the Skipper knew how much I messed up he would never let me forget it. I could just hear what he would say. Usually I don't mind too much when the Skipper bawls me out when I goof but this was different. This time I'd really hurt some body and I just couldn't stand the thought of it.

The Professor glanced at me for a second before answering the Skipper. "I lost my footing." Was all he said. He didn't say anything about the ladder or me falling on him or anything. He was keeqing quite for me. Some how it didn't make me feel any better, like I was getting away with something aweful that I should really be in big trouble for.

The Skipper had everything covered and they didn't really need me around. And after what happened I figured they probably didn't _want_ me around. So I let them walk on ahead and I split off on a different trail. I left the stuff at the lagoon, figuring I could come back and get it later. I felt so bad about what happened I just couldn't go back to camp. Not right then anyway. There just had to be some way to make up for everything.

_Personal Journal_

Being carried like a child for several miles was quite a humbling experience. The Skipper seemed to have no difficulty whatever bearing my weight and he was quite careful about the position of my foot. The unusual mode of transportation was more uncomfortable emotionally than physically and I admit, despite the need and logic, I was quite embarrassed.

"I can't believe this!" The Skipper grumbled as he worked his way along the trail. "Gilligan, of all the bone-headed stunts!"

I turned my head a bit to gauge Gilligan's reaction but to my surprise he was nowhere in sight. Where could he have gone?

"It's not his fault, Skipper. _I_ was the one who misinterpreted those drums."

"Of course it was his fault. I've known Gilligan a long time and I could see it in his face." The Skipper shot back. "He should have come back for help. That boy just doesn't _think_!" He was upset over the accident, I could see that, but I did not understand why he was intent on blaming Gilligan. It was unwarranted, dogmatic and unsympathetic. All this coming from a man that was supposed to be the Gilligan's best friend.

A deep annoyance grew inside of me. It was the same feeling I had experienced last night, only then it was directed inward. "Perhaps you don't know him as well as you think you do."

He frowned, obviously provoked by the comment. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"He's not stupid, Skipper."

The Skipper stopped, made eye contact only for a moment then looked away. After repositioning my weight he continued walking, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on the trail.

I should have waited, consulted Gilligan before I revealed something so personal. But that was not the foremost issue on my mind at the time. "In fact, there is something about him that I think you should know." Perhaps it was the solemn tone in my voice, but the Skipper's demeanor instantly altered and I could feel him tense.

"What? He seemed okay. Is my little buddy alright? There's nothing wrong with him is there?" I found it intriguing how quickly he had gone from referring to Gilligan as 'that boy' to 'little buddy'.

"In a manner of speaking, yes. There is."

The Skipper looked as if I had struck him. His respiration increased and he became less coherent as his worry intensified. "What happ- I wouldn't have let him wander off if—ep, what's wrong? Is he hurt?" He was becoming quite agitated and for a moment I feared his hold would falter and I would soon find myself on the ground.

"No, he's not hurt. But it appears that he does have an unusual medical condition."

"My poor little buddy!" The Skipper shifted anxiously from one foot to the other before swallowing audibly. Clearly he was making a valiant effort to maintain his composure. He evidently anticipated the announcement of some exceedingly painful or fatal illness. "Tell me, Professor. I can handle it. W...what's wrong with him?"

"From my observations and our conversation last night he appears to have all the classic symptoms of dyslexia. A reading disorder."

"Oh, no! Is he...?" Suddenly my last sentence appeared to register and his panic turned to perplexity. "'_Reading_ disorder'? That doesn't sound too serious."

The passive response irked me. "It affects his vision! He can't _see _words, or left from right. Haven't you ever wondered why at his age Gilligan has such difficulty reading? Why he gets his directions so confused? Haven't you noticed how often you point him in one direction and he goes the other? He's not dumb, Skipper! He _sees_ differently. In effect he's partially blind!"

For a long moment he stared blankly at me as if attempting to wrap his mind around the statement. "Blind...?" Then his face abruptly became a disarrayed mass of expressions, one falling away before the other had completely formed. The countenance that finally solidified was one I could only interpret as remorse, an emotion I surely mirrored. "And I'd always thought..." His eyes misted and his voice was hushed, introspective, as if he were speaking to himself.

The anger I had felt towards him a moment ago dissipated. "There's no way you could have known." It took a long moment before I was able to confess: "I didn't realize either."

He blinked rapidly and cleared his throat, adjusting my mass as he continued purposefully down the trail. I did not hear another word from him until we reached camp.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"Found 'em!" The Skipper shouted as we neared camp. We were instantly set upon by a mob of concerned comrades. Neither the Skipper or I were given a chance to speak over the din of their rapid-fire inquiries.

Ginger set down a pair of island-made bongos as we approached the table. "Oh, no! Professor, what happened to your foot?"

"Are you okay? Is it broken?" Mary Ann asked.

"Professor, if you wanted to go for a ride we _do_ have that quaint little bamboo car, you know."

"What in the name of J.P. Morgan happened here?"

The Skipper shouldered his way through them and set me carefully on the table. He dropped onto the bench and with a small groan touched his fingertips to his forehead. He was most certainly spent from hauling me for such distance but it was clear that his exhaustion was more than physical.

"I'm alright," I insisted in an attempt to compose my anxious friends. "Yes, it's broken. But not too badly, I believe."

"I daresay, Professor," Mr. Howell began. "I do hope you have good health insurance."

Mary Ann was the first to take note of the Skipper's disposition. "Are you okay, Skipper? You don't look so good either." Before he had an opportunity to respond her eyes widened as if suddenly interpreting his expression. She glanced worriedly around the clearing. "Where's Gilligan?"

"Good question." Mr. Howell said. "I was forced to golf today without a caddy. Nearly broke my back. That lad can be so inconsiderate."

I couldn't help but bristle at the remark, especially considering all I had recently learned about the young man. It was the Skipper, however, that spoke.

"Pipe down, Howell." He didn't look up as he gave the order, but continued to stare at his hands which were folded in front of him. "The Professor's got something to say." He glanced at me briefly before lowering his head again. "Tell them what you told me...about Gilligan."

The somber tone of his voice elicited an immediate response.

Mary Ann's face turned ashen and for a brief moment I feared she would faint. "Oh dear! What happened? He...he's alright isn't he?

Ginger's hand went to her mouth. "Is he hurt?"

Mr. Howell's brows came together in concern and irritation. "For heaven sake, Professor! Surely a broken foot doesn't cause laryngitis! Where _is_ the boy?"

"The poor boy hasn't fallen into one of those nasty quicksand traps has he?"

I held both hands up, again trying to ebb the tide of anxiety. "He's fine. Don't worry. He's fine. He simply decided not to accompany us back to camp."

There was a unified sigh.

"Dash it all, Captain! What's the meaning of scaring us like that?"

Before the Skipper had a chance to respond to Mr. Howell's demanding query I continued. "However, there is something about Gilligan that I must tell you." Once again, I felt rather awkward discussing something of this magnitude openly, without Gilligan's consent. However, knowledge of his difficulty could prove essential in a death-dealing situation. So I told them. I divulged everything I knew about the disorder and my reasons for diagnosing our young friend.

When I had finished there was a long silence.

Then Mary Ann exclaimed, tears slipping down her cheeks: "Oh! Poor Gilligan!"

Ginger looked pointedly distressed, biting back tears as well. "All this time we've been chewing him out for something he couldn't help. I don't know about the rest of you but I feel like an absolute villain."

"No need for insults." Mr. Howell interjected. "However, it does seem I've misjudged the boy. Perhaps some kind of retraction is in order."

Mrs. Howell tapped a thoughtful finger on her chin. "Perhaps we could buy him a pair of glasses. It would make him look much more studious, you know."

Despite the gravity of the conversation I couldn't help but be amused. "I'm afraid glasses won't help, Mrs. Howell. Although the condition affects eyesight it essentially stems from the brain."

"Oh, gosh." Mary Ann sat heavily on the bench. "It must have been awful. What did Gilligan say? Do you think that's why he ran off?"

I shook my head. "I haven't told him yet."

"You've got to tell him, Professor." Ginger said. "He has the right to know."

"I know. I'm...just not sure how to go about it."

"It's not good for sure. But you've given him worse news than this." Ginger said.

I let out a long breath. It was true, I have had to divulge more unpleasant announcements than this. However, the nature of this news was somewhat different from telling the others the island was sinking or the transmitter couldn't be repaired. In fact, the more I considered it the news wasn't exactly detrimental to Gilligan. He was accustomed to his condition and knowledge of it wasn't going to change his sight. But it could easily alter his perception of himself and the world around him and that alone made the message I had to deliver somewhat delicate.

Ginger glanced into the jungle for a moment as if expecting Gilligan to appear at any moment. Then she took in a small determined breath. "When he gets back you can tell him. First we've got to do something about your foot. I'll get the first aid book."

Mary Ann nodded in agreement. "I'll get some bandages."

Mrs. Howell twiddled her fingers excitedly. "I'll go change into something white."

_Dear Diary_

I walked around for a long time, just thinking. I did find something I thought the Professor would like. It wasn't going to fix what had happened but I thought it might make him feel a little better.

It was awhile after lunch when I finally started back to camp. I really didn't want to go back becauze I knew that every one was going to be mad. But I couldn't stay away forever and by that time I was starved. I was hoping to kinda sneak into camp without anyone noticing but it didn't quite work that way.

The Skipper saw me as soon as I stepped out of the bushes. I was expecting to be in trouble, for him to holler at me.

"Gilligan, Little Buddy! Where have you been? You just wandered off." He came over real quick and I thought I was going to get whacked over the head again. I knew I had it comin. Insted he put a big hand on my shoulber. He looked upset...not mad but upset.

"Well, I put the ladder and the Professor's stuff in the supply hut." I shrugged a little, not too sure what else to say and wondering why I wasn't getting bawled out. "Um...is there somethin wrong, Skipper?"

"Yeah, there is. I was pretty hard on you yesterday about that laundry business." He took his hat off and brushed his hair back and looked at the ground.

"That's okay. I should have been watchin where I was going."

"It wasn't your fault. Even if it was I shouldn't have blown my stack like that. Especially considering..." He stopped a second to swallow. He looked like he was going to cry! "Well, I just want you to know that I'm really sorry."

I thought my ears weren't working! The Skipper hardly ever appologizes to me about anything and never over just a little yelling. Usually when he feels bad about something he'll take me fishing or set up a game of checkers but actually _saying_ he's sorry...well, it was something I never exqected. I didn't even know what to say!

I didn't get a chance to say anything anyway becauze Mary Ann, Ginger and the Howell's appeared out of nowhere.

"Oh, Gilligan! There you are!" Mary Ann was the first to come up. Before I knew it she hugged me around the neck and kissed me! I thought I was gonna choke. "I was worried about you."

"Y...you were? How come?"

Mrs. Howell stepped infront of me and looked me over with that glasses-on-a-stick thing she carries around. "His eyes look fine to me."

Now I was _really_ confused. "My eyes?"

"_Lovey!" _Mr. Howell said, like she had said something that she wasn't supposed to. He kinda scooted her behind him before talking to me. "What my dear wife is trying unsuccessfully to say is that perhaps we acted a bit harshly during that whole laundry mishap yesterday. And your debt is hereby canceled."

I wasn't quite sure but I think he was saying he was sorry. Mr. Howell and the Skipper both appologizing to me? I couldn't believe it! I thought it was a dream!

Before I knew it Ginger came up behind me grabbed me by both arms and kissed me. I was too confused to try and get away. "What was that for?"

"Oh, Gilligan. I never realised you were so misunderstood."

"Huh?" Either I was going crazy or every body else was.

Mary Ann took my hand. "The Professor told us about-"

Before she had a chance to finish the Skipper pulled me back a bit so I wasn't in the middle of every body. I couldn't figure it out! If the Professor told them everything how come they weren't mad? "Gilligan, Little Buddy. The Professor's got something he needs to tell you." He gave me a little shove toward the supply hut.

I gulped. That didn't sound good.

_Personal Journal_

There was a tentative knock on the door. "Yes?"

The door opened slowly and Gilligan hesitantly peeked inside. "Hey, Professor."

"Gilligan! Come in." I beckoned him in with a wave and set my pen and journal on the table.

Gilligan swallowed hard and stepped inside. He seemed reluctant to meet my eyes, although he did glance at the large cast that now encased my foot. "How ya doin'?"

"Fine. Just catching up on some writing." I nodded vaguely at my journal

"Oh." He shifted uncomfortably for a moment. "Um...I brought you something." He opened his hand to reveal a long brown feather with a white tip and several small yellow ones. "Doreen is molting and I thought you might like these for your book. You know, so when we get rescued you can prove you saw her."

I could scarcely contain my excitement as he set the delicate plumes into my hand. I was overcome by the history that I was holding. "Gilligan, these are wonderful!" I held them up and looked each over in turn. Pulling my journal from the table I flipped through it until I found an empty page toward the back. Delicately I placed the feathers between the leaves and closed the book over them. "The history of ornithology owes you a great debt. And so do I."

Gilligan shrugged a bit self-consciously. "Aw, it's just a few feathers. No big deal."

I shook my head. "That's not what I mean. Your courage last night and this morning was quite commendable."

He looked puzzled. "It was? I don't remember doin' anything brave. I was scared to death the whole time."

"Gilligan, bravery is not the lack of fear. It's being afraid and doing it anyway."

He looked down as he shuffled his feet. "It doesn't matter. There weren't really any headhunters."

"There's a wise old expression, Gilligan: 'It's the thought that counts'. You didn't know that it was only Ginger and neither did I."

_Dear Diary_

I knew I was blushing. I didn't deserve all that credit. But it was kinda nice to hear. At least I knew that he wasn't mad at me for everything. The Professor's a real swell guy.

"Um...the Skipper said you wanted to see me for something."

"Yes. I do." He looked a little uncomfortable for a minute like he had to say something that he didn't really want to. "Do you remember last night when you told me that in school your teachers told said your work was often mixed up, backward?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I believe that you really _do_ see things backward."

I shrugged it wasn't anything I hadn't heard before. "People have been tellin me that for years."

He shook his head and told me that he meant it litterally. That I see wrong.

I laughed at that. "Professor, I've got great eyesight. Even the Skipper says so. I can see those sea mark buoys way before he can. You know, it's funny, I can see just fine but I never do score well on those eye charts."

That's when he told me that I don't see bad just different. I didn't think that made much sense. He said that the reason I don't read good is becauze there's somethin in my head that switches what I see around.

I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what to think_. _I didn't know what to _feel. _I didn't even know if I believed him. If it was anybody else I woulda thought they were playing some kind a mean joke. But the Professor wouldn't do that.

That meant that all this time, since I was a little kid, that I was seeing things different from everyone else? How come I didn't know? How come nobody told me before? If I'da knew maybe I would have done things different. It felt like I didn't know myself at all and it was scary.

But it also meant that I really wasn't as dumb, becauze I couldn't read good. I didn't know weither to believe it but it sounded real nice.

But he could be wrong. He was wrong about the drums.

"Are you sure? I mean really sure? How could you know?"

"Well, I've been observing you and-"

Observing me? I didn't like the sound of that. He must have saw it on my face cuz he interrupted himself.

"Don't take it personally. I do it to everybody. I guess it's kind of an occupational disease."

I nearly choked! In a second I forgot all about what he had just told me. "A disease? Oh, Professor that's terrible! What kind of disease? Are you going to be alright?"

_Personal Journal_

I tried not to smile. One never knows what Gilligan will take literally. "I mean when you're a scientist you tend to study things more closely than others generally would. As I was saying; I've been observing you and you are a lot smarter than you think you are."

Gilligan looked surprised and embarrassed but somewhat dubious, as if he wasn't sure where this conversation would lead. "Um...gee, thanks Professor. But I'm sure I'd be a lot smarter if I'd had you for a teacher."

I couldn't help but smile at the praise. "Actually, Gilligan, that's exactly what I wanted to talk to you about. I have a proposition for you."

The first mate's brows furrowed in a puzzled expression. Then he shrugged and held out a hand. "Well, as long as it's nothin' big. The Skipper says if I bring any more junk into our hut he'll throw it all out and me with it."

"Gilligan, a proposition is a suggestion."

"Oh. Well, I guess that wouldn't take up much room." He grinned, clearly proud of the joke.

I gave him a smile of acknowledgment, even though I was quite uncertain how to go about presenting my offer. It was a delicate question and I did not want the young man to think I was insulting his intelligence for that was the last thing I wished to do. However, I have always found that, scientifically as well as metaphorically, a straight line is the shortest route between two points and the direct approach is generally the most logical course. "Gilligan, _would_ you like me to be your teacher?"

His brows came together in a look of perplexity. "What do you mean?"

"You said yourself there are things you missed in school. If you like I could help you. I'm qualified to teach up to twelfth grade history and even higher math and science."

He stared at me for a long moment with an expression I could not quite interpret. But it was clear he was pondering something deeply. Finally he shrugged and gave me a wry smile. "I don't know Professor. I didn't learn all that stuff the first time I probably couldn't learn it again."

"There are other ways of learning besides textbooks." I insisted, not prepared to let him give up so easily. "Charts, illustrations, stories, games, they can all be educational tools."

He perked up slightly. "Games?" He thought about it for a moment. "Do you really think I could learn all that stuff?"

"Certainly. If you want to."

"I'd like that. But my neighbor Scotty O'Hara got a personal teacher once and it cost his mom a bundle. I could never pay you back, Professor."

"I'll tell you what. You can introduce me to all your animal friends and we'll call it even. Deal?" I extended a hand.

A smile swiftly engulfed his face. He seized my hand and pumped it vigorously. "Deal!"

"Okay, Gilligan, for your first class go get the checkerboard from that shelf over there, and the box beside it too."

He did as he was told and set both items on the small table at my bedside. "But I already know how to play checkers."

"And very well at that. But this isn't checkers. It's chess."

Gilligan began to protest. "I couldn't learn that. Chess is for-"

"Gilligan if you insult your own intelligence one more time I'm docking your grade."

The first mate clamped his mouth shut.

"Pull up a chair." As he did so the I began pulling chess pieces from the box, and held each one up for him to inspect. "This is your king, queen, knights-"

Gilligan laughed, picking up one of the pieces. "Sounds just like a fairy tale."

I couldn't help but smile. "Just like a fairy tale."

_Dear Diary_

The Professor taught me how to play chess. I thought I could never learn something with so many rules like that. But he was really nice, even when I kept making mistakes. It's hard to rememder that each of those pieces moves different, but I think I've got it figured out now. Even though I lost every game he says that I'm good at it. I'm not so sure, but it was fun anyhow.

He says that when his foot is better we can go on walks and he'll teach me about the plants and stuff on the island. But tomorrow he says he's going to tell me all about this place called Rome and the people that used to live there a long time ago. He says it's really exciting.

I wish all teachers were like him. He gets excited about stuff and he doesn't get mad when I don't understand things. He just explains it different.

Every one else has been aweful nice to me today too. The Skipper says that he's gonna try to give clearer orders and Mr. Howell says he wants to teach me book keeping. I don't know what good that'll do me because I don't own that many books, well, except my comic books. And he couldn't care less about them. Mrs. Howell said that I can borrow Mr. Howell's glasses any time I want. I'm not sure why but it's nice of her. Mary Ann is making her coconut crème pie for dessert tonight and Ginger says she's gonna sing some songs from the Mosquitoes! This day started out rotten but it really turned around.

...

Gilligan frowned at the words he had written. His penmanship looked like a third-grader's. But he didn't care, not anymore. The Professor said it would get better. His gaze shifted from the page to the rippling lagoon and he stuck the pockmarked end of the pencil in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. After a long moment he made one more entry.

_Dear Diary_

I don't think I'll ever meet anyone smarter than the Professor. But he's not just smart. He's my friend. Maybe I shouldn't say this but I'm kinda glad that we got shipwrecked so I could get to know him.

...

The Professor stared down at the black script for a long moment, brushing the feather pen against his chin as he read over the entry. Keeping one finger on that page he thumbed through the large tome until he came to a page where several bright yellow feathers were pressed between the sheets. He lifted one, fingering it delicately before replacing it and returning to the written entry. Dipping the quill pen in his little bamboo inkewell he once again touched the tip to the page:

_Personal Journal_

I have made many marvelous discoveries on this remarkable island. But none so moving as the one I made that dark night just speaking with a friend.

_Author's Note: Thank you callensensei for your invaluable beta reading!_


End file.
